


City of Ghosts

by Grumperella



Series: Febuwhump 2021: The Mandalorian Misadventures [7]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angry Din Djarin, Bo-Katan is a pain in the ass, Din can be a little shit too, Din has an existential crisis, FebuWhump2021, I love writing Mandalorians... I just think they're neat, Mandalor!Din, Mandalorian History (Star Wars), Planet Mandalore (Star Wars), The Mandalorian Darksaber (Star Wars), The Nite Owls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumperella/pseuds/Grumperella
Summary: Febuwhump Prompt Day 10: “I’m sorry, I didn't know”___Din & Bo-Katan have a whisper-fight in the shadows Keldabe's abandoned city streets. Din exercises an existential crisis. Bo-Katan seems to knows exactly which buttons of his to press. Koska and Axe watch, amused.___Post Ep 16, takes place about a week after my ficBuried Alive
Relationships: Din Djarin & Bo-Katan Kryze
Series: Febuwhump 2021: The Mandalorian Misadventures [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156874
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	City of Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Re-post from my existing Febuwhump series, because I'm transitioning the multi-chap fit into a series.

Mandalore’s surface was a lifeless husk of sand and ash. Trekking stealthily through the empty streets of Keldabe, the planet’s ancient capital, Din wondered how Mandalorians ever managed to call this inhospitable wasteland home. Peering out of his visor, his HUD automatically analyzed and tagged weak spots in the dilapidated buildings beside them. They'd already learned how dangerous those could be.

Crumbling stone walls, dusty durasteel doors, broken windows… The silence was deafening, the absence of life palpable. He could see speeders and hover-taxis crippled along the road, some simply on their sides, others clearly crumpled where they fell from the sky. 

He tightened his grip on the rifle in his hands, head panning left to right and back as they walked carefully through the shadows of the buildings. 

While the city may have been evacuated during the Great Purge, the sensors on the light cruiser had detected life forms in the city: likely imperial occupation outposts, still picking the city clean years later. The thought disgusted him, but not as much as it had disgusted Bo-Katan. Or perhaps it had simply seemed so because she’d had her helmet off as they’d scanned the planet from orbit, her twisted scowl on display... 

Abruptly, Bo-Katan threw up a closed fist and the single-file line of armed Mandalorians came to a silent halt. The Nite Owl pulled up a pair of binocs, adjusted the settings, then scanned their surroundings, both immediate and distant. Shoulders slumping with a sigh, she turned to the group, helmet cocking to the side. 

“There are no heat signatures or electro-signatures within the next few miles. We’ve been scouting for hours, let’s take a rest here before we proceed.” She pulled out a small ration bar from one of her waist pouches and tossed it to Koska. “I think I owe you one.” 

The other woman caught the bar easily and nodded, then the three blue armored Mandalorians leaned or sat against the wall of the building, still in its shadow, taking a moment to breathe and rest. Koska sat heavily, removing her helmet and unwrapping the bar, taking a large bite. Axe groaned as he lowered himself to the ground, still healing from his recent injury. He pulled his own rations out of a pounch and took his own bite, grimacing at the taste. Koska smirked at him. Bo-Katan just shook her head, remaining standing as she leaned against the wall.

Din stood in shadow a few feet behind the group, knowing he wouldn’t be able to join them as they ate. After eyeing them as they settled, he turned to survey their surroundings, keeping watch. A moment later, the light slapping of a leather glove on stone sounded behind him and he looked back over. Koska was beckoning at him.

“C’mon, take a seat, Din. We all need the rest. We won’t bite, I promise.” 

Her tone was teasing and Axe snickered. Din ignored them good naturedly. He could tell their demeanor was affectionately prodding, as opposed to the sneering disdain they’d felt for him not long ago. Fighting side-by-side with someone for long enough, regardless of their cultural beliefs, tended to do that to people. Not to mention, he was technically their _Mand’alor_ now, and that had only been cemented when Din expertly used the darksaber to cut the two of them out of a collapsed building only a week ago. 

Instead, Din’s eyes followed the tall spire of a building in front of him until he was looking up at the flickering dome above them. They’d managed to get the bio-dome functioning again when they’d first arrived (and again after it had failed), but it was still by no means stable, which was... concerning, to say the least. But for the last three weeks that they’d been combing through the city, it had held more or less. He looked around himself at the sand dusted streets, the abandoned architecture… His thoughts turned dark.

“Was it always like this?” He finally asked, vaguely. Koska raised an eyebrow at him, but it was Bo-Katan who turned now, meeting his gaze head on. 

“No.” She answered, tone unreadable. “It was beautiful, once. Clean. It was home.” 

Din frowned.

“If it was home, then why did you bomb it.”

It was asked rhetorically, his tone even - more to make a point than really inquire. His real question was, ‘if you valued it so little then, why do you care so much about it now?’

In the last few months of traveling with the Nite Owls, he’d learned more about the convoluted history of the Mandalorians… the battle between New Mandalorians and the True Mandalorians… the split of the True Mandalorians into Death Watch, who wanted to take back Mandalore from the peace-loving locals, and the martialists that instead scattered to the Outer Rim to form their own tribes… how the Death Watch then split into the Nite Owls, the Shadow Collective, and other sects… like his own tribe, the Children of the Watch. It had been a lot to take in, but as convoluted and troubled as it was, it was his heritage - and Bo-Katan’s too.

Especially knowing now that she herself was once a prominent member of Death Watch, it made him wonder where this sudden desire to revive what once was on Mandalore had come from. If anything, he thought she’d embrace the more militant sects that had split off from the Tribe, embrace the nomadic lifestyle that revered ‘kill or be killed’... And yet, she wanted to take back the planet that had housed a people she disdained. Something didn’t fit, and he was sick of politics.

Bo-Katan still wore her embellished helmet, but he could feel her narrowing her eyes into a glare at him. Her temper always did burn hot.

For once, he was glad for it. He wasn’t sure why, but here, now, he was _itching_ for a fight. The discomfort of the hot, dry sand getting under his armor… the lingering loss of his ship and his- his _foundling…_ the prickling defensiveness of his upbringing in the covert… 

_She’d_ dragged him into this kriffing quest to rebuild Mandalore, _insisted_ that he take up the mantle he’d _unintentionally_ won. And then over the past few weeks, she’d questioned his leadership at every turn. Insulting the Way of his Tribe, disdaining his lack of interest in galactic politics, scoffing at the gaps in his knowledge of his own culture’s history… If his claim to _Mand’alor_ was so distasteful to her, he wished she’d just _take_ the darksaber and be done with it. But no, she still refused. His building frustration was finally finding a vent.

“I...” She huffed angrily. “The intent was not wanton destruction; it was politics. The people hiding in their domes had become weak, complacent. They’d abandoned their tradition, the _Resol'nare_ , their _beskar’gam_. They were no longer Mandalorians, they were Republic puppets.”

“You _still_ feel that way, after everything that happened? That it was worth _this_?” He waved an arm at their surroundings.

Bo-Katan scoffed but Din kept her gaze. Finally she ripped off her helmet and sneered at him, eyes flashing.

“ _You’re_ one to talk, _Child of the Watch_. You scorned us the moment we took off our helmets. Imagine a planet of “Mandalorians” that wore no armor at all, that had never taken the Creed or earned adulthood in trial by combat. They didn’t _deserve_ to call Mandalore their home.”

Din said nothing, imagining a city of soft bodies with no beskar shells that called themselves _Mando’ade_. He agreed that he couldn’t really fathom it. They weren’t Mandalorians… they were galactic citizens who lived on Mandalore. Nothing more. Still, he thought darkly, perhaps this was the natural evolution of their culture. Those people had still been born on Mandalore, they still had some sort of claim to the planet as their home… as much as Mandalorians who swore the Creed did. While a part of him could understand the Death Watch’s disgust, he didn’t think he ever could have ever been party to attacking his own planet's citizens. 

Then, he tried to imagine a beautiful, clean, domed city like Keldabe inhabited by full _beskar’gam_ clad Mandalorians... doing dishes, having children, filing paperwork, flying taxis… that image didn’t fit either. Theirs was a culture from an older age, a people that no longer fit into the fabric of the galaxy… Feeling lost and angry and a petty desire to be contrary, he just shrugged. 

“The _Resol'nare_ teaches us that battle culls the weak, and empowers the strong. That only the strong should survive. The New Mandalorians won your Civil War, if I heard right. Wouldn’t that have given them rights to the planet, by combat? But your little coup couldn’t let it go, dividing and dividing, and now we’re on a dead planet, scouting a city full of nothing but sand.” His tone darkened. “What are you _really_ trying to do here?”

Bo-Katan snarled and took a step towards him, prodding a finger in his direction. “And what was your Tribe doing? Running away to the farthest corner of the galaxy to hide under your helmets and apply the Mandalorian art of battle to _bounty hunting_? We are warriors, conquerors, not petty mercs. We fight for honor, not _credits_.” She spat into the sand at his feet.

Din bristled at the slight on his Tribe. Their way of life may have been sheltered, but it was elegant, prideful, and it had ensured their survival unti…. until…

The unbidden pain of that loss added kerosene to the fire of his anger.

“Yes, Mandalorian heritage. Tradition. The Way.” He seethed. “Where has it gotten us? Defeated by the Jedi, manipulated by the Republic, enslaved and glassed by the Empire. We’re a scattered people with an endangered way of life. Maybe it’s not _meant_ to survive.” He was quietly shouting now, voice hard. He didn’t even know if he really believed what he was saying, but words were bubbling up from a well of buried fears and indignant rage.  
  
“Maybe my Tribe was never _meant_ to last. I don’t know Kryze, but look around you! This is a city of ghosts, you want to revive some... dead thing. Do you imagine **_us_ ** living here in dome-cities, going about our lives? We’ll just become as they were if we live like this - become the very thing you hated. Why keep doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different outcome?!”

“We have to try _something_ , Din.” Bo-Katan seethed back, closing the distance between them, voice so strained it nearly vibrated in the air. “You suggest just letting our people die out, scattered across the galaxy, weak and alone, hiding like rats in tunnels? Where is your pride?”  
  
“What I _suggest_ , is trying something different.” He reached down roughly and unclipped the darksaber from his belt, holding it out to her with an angry jerk of his arm. “Starting with this. You want to lead so bad, why don’t you just _take_ it for kriff’s sake. Why cling to this tradition of fighting me to the death for it? It’s just a symbol, use it. I know you think I’m unfit, so _take it_.” His voice choked roughly, strained by grief. “You’re right about me. I don’t deserve it. I got my entire covert killed… men, women, _children_ , dead because of- of me.”

Bo-Katan’s face went from enraged to unreadable, then she was looking down at the floor, fists shaking. 

“ _You_ … sacrificed everything to protect a foundling. Your tribe, your ship, your life, your Creed. You have come to our aid the moment we asked more than once. You fought and won the darksaber, then used it to save Mandalorian lives. If you are unworthy, then _none_ of us are worthy.” Finally she looked up and her eyes were red rimmed. “You, me, it doesn’t matter. I- Death Watch-” she seemed to falter before her face finally crumpled.

“I got my _sister_ _killed_ , Djarin.” She finally hissed in grief, face inches from his. “She was murdered and it was _my_ fault. My actions splintered our society, brought ruin down upon our _entire_ planet. I am no more _deserving_ than you.” She stopped, heaving a shuddering breath, and Din stood in stunned silence. 

“ _ **I’m sorry, I... didn’t know.** _About your sister...” 

Bo-Katan brushed his apology aside and pointed a finger into his cuirass with hard features.  
  
“The Way of the Mandalore _will_ die out if we don’t do something. It _cannot_ end this way. Being _Mand’alor_ , it’s not about being deserving, or worthy. It's about being willing to do what needs to be done _now_ to save your people, your culture. And not just willing, but _able_ to fight for it. Is that not something you feel is worth doing?”

Din swallowed. “You know I do.”

Like a switch had been flipped, Bo-Katan leaned away from him, standing straighter, and smirked as though they hadn’t just been whisper-shouting heatedly at each other. “Well, seems you could be _Mand’alor_ material after all then.”

Feeling whiplash at the sudden change in direction and tone of their conversation, Din stopped, staring at Bo-Katan with narrowed eyes through his visor, shoulders tense. 

It would appear he still had a lot to learn about this woman.

A rustle and a rough clearing of throats sounded beside them as Koska and Axe stood, dusting themselves off.

“Are you two done?” Axe deadpanned, pulling his helmet back on. 

Bo-Katan gave Din a side-eye, the smirk still on her lips.

“Yeah. We’re done.”

“Good,” Koska sighed, the voice modulator through her helmet crackling. “Cause my butt was starting to fall asleep.”

Sighing, Din moved to take point, the darksaber heavy against his hip.

“Let’s move out.” He tossed over his shoulder, advancing through the empty streets of Keldabe, rifle primed.

**Author's Note:**

> This chap isn't really whump, per se, (again) but I really like writing Din with the Nite Owls... Mando-culture is so cool. Some of these prompts just inspire me in different ways *shrug*.
> 
> I promise I have some truly whumpy chapters almost done, coming soon!
> 
>  **Mando'a Translations:**  
>  Mand’alor - sole ruler of Mandalore  
> Resol'nare - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life  
> beskar’gam - mandalorian armor  
> Mando’ade - children of Mandalore


End file.
